


Advent Calendar 3

by ecrituredudesir



Category: Neopets
Genre: Humiliation, Multi, Nudity, Pillory, Public Humiliation, Restraints, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:41:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21846880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecrituredudesir/pseuds/ecrituredudesir
Summary: The slot for Advent Calendar 3A thief gets a much more embarrassing punishment than usual.A commission for someone on furaffinity.
Kudos: 7





	Advent Calendar 3

It was starting to feel like an old song and dance, how many time Mirabelle had called before the magistrate judge to be sentenced for whatever minor crime she had committed. The Zafara was used to seeing the vexation on the judge’s face when he saw her, _again,_ but this time it seemed it was accompanied by enough frustration that there would be no more innocuous ‘slaps on the wrist’ that she was used to receiving.   
  
Instead of a normal night jail sentence, or fines she would just steal from some other poor soul to pay off, his face had darkened and he’d given the abrupt, simple punishment: community service, that night, at one of the galas in the city.   
  
That was what put her here, in the most humiliating situation she’d ever been in. Her clothing had been replaced-- “community service” apparently meant she’d be waiting on hand and foot at a ball full of people who were familiar with her cheating, blackmailing ways. So many of them were victims of her prior thefts, people who she considered to have far too much money and far to little charity in their hearts. She’d always considered they wouldn’t be missing _much_ if she just skimmed a bit off the top.  
  
If she wanted to consider skimmed now, she could only imagine the word for the hem of her clothing. Her skirt was so short that it barely had any length to be considered a ‘skirt’ at all, reminding her of the aprons that she saw waitresses carry their tips and accessories in at diners. Her top, if it could be called that either, barely covered her chest in a strip across, cutting low enough to enough to show the rise of her cleavage and completely baring her mid-drift. Honestly, she was rather certain that her curly maid’s had covered more of her than either article of clothing did, and to her dismay, she hadn’t been allowed a pair of underwear with it. One wrong move would put more on display than she’d ever publicly shown, but that just meant she was using all of the grace she normally employed in her efforts of stealing to keep herself carefully poised as to not give anyone a view she didn’t want them to have.  
  
She wasn’t particularly unfamiliar with clothing like this; some of her favorite outfits threatened to reveal just as much, but she normally wore them in more familiar company; it was harder, knowing just how many people were enjoying her particular embarrassment in this particular crowd. She had caught plenty of eyes watching the rise of her ass cheeks just visible under the material supposed to be covering them. Really, the most inconvenient part about being forced to cater to the crowds of elite guests happened to be the chains that had been attached to both wrists and ankles, heavy shackles covering the joints that went down, impossibly heavy, to drag along the floor and keep her from making any sudden movements or running from this new punishment.   
  
So far, she’d managed to do quite well. As awkward as moving with her legs tightly pressed together to make the “skirt” feel a little longer as, she had made it a couple of hours into the party already. The worst part, though, was the passing laughter. Whenever anyone called her over to partake in the drinks or snacks that she carried on the heavy trays lifted at her side, she would catch the telltale sounds of their snickering chasing after her, their laughs ringing heavily in her ears and leaving her face burning with embarrassment. They were almost blatantly laughing at her whenever she seemed to show any sign of discomfort.  
  
It was a blow to her pride, which had only flourished from her several years of experience of robbing half these faces for as much as she could get from them in the sneakiest ways possible, and having so many of them mock her now, she couldn’t hide her discomfort. She couldn’t hide anything, really. As a lord broke out in snickers behind her at a full view of her ass crack when a soft breeze gusted in from someone opening the nearby door, and as hot embarrassment crawled up her cheeks, she had to clench her jaw to keep her temper and deal with the punishment with the same fake cheery submission that she had been commanded to present. Even through gritting her teeth, she was tempted to bite down on the tip of her tongue to hold it, lest she snap off at someone and make her own punishment worse. She’d managed to carefully navigate the situation so far, determined to prove herself more than capable of taking the shameful punishment, and she was certain that she was going to do fine-- right up until the point she managed to catch one of the heavy chains tied around her ankles. A small, yelping squeak slipped past her lips as her foot dipped under the edge of heavy chain, and before she could stop herself, she was falling-- heavy cake tray in hand as well, which was now flying forward across the direction that she’d been waking in in the first place. She barely managed to catch herself the minute she hit the ground, her hands splaying under her, but in the same swoop, she looked up just in time to see that one of the cakes that she’d been carrying on the tray had flown forward. It was now being worn by one of the guests, smears of icing and broken cake dripping down the front of his suit. The room went quiet, watching on as the magistrate who had sentenced her to the current punishment worked his way to the center of the room to regard them both with some level of shock.  
  
“You had one job,” he announced, berating her loudly in front of the crowd, “and you couldn’t even do that right, could you? Grab her! If this punishment is too _lowly_ for her to do right, we’ll show her a proper punishment for her ineptitude this time. Bring the pillory from the shed in the back!”   
  
Mirabelle went pale, her eyes widening as the crowd conversed on her, grasping her and restraining her, pulling her up with the chains still hanging from her limbs as the loud, rumbling sound of the magistrate’s workers rolling the pillory into the middle of the room seemed to fill her ears even at a distance. Swallowing, she shifted to try and pull her limbs free of the grasps of the nobility once more, but before she could even get a good vantage, she started to feel the grasp of prying and pulling hands—bit by bit, the bare strips of cloth that had served as her ‘clothing’ was pulled away, the crowd ignoring her rather vocal protests against being stripped down. It took them only a manner of minutes for them to disrobe her, leaving her naked apart from the little slip of lace that served as her maid’s hat. They had the pillory open by then, and after a brief struggle they had her chains and cuffs off of her wrists just in time to force her head and wrists down into the stocks. They had rigged the pillory on a large platform, and as the magistrate lifted himself up onto it, several of the ones watching on grasped the pegs connected to the pillory, and began to rotate it. The platform spun slowly, and tears of frustrated, angry shame flooded to her eyes as she was spun so her naked, vulnerable form was rotated so the entire room could get an eyeful of what had only barely been covered by her clothing before.   
  
Fearing that they could see quite literally _everything,_ Mirabelle lifted her leg in a desperate attempt behind her to hide her most exposed, personal bits with her thigh, only to realize quickly enough that they had left her ankle cuffs on for this very reason. The heavy chains still connected to her slender ankle were far too weighty for her to manage to hold her leg up for long, and she could feel her heart race with the terrible anxiety of mortified humiliation, her head too stuck in place for her to be able to bury her face in shame anywhere.   
  
“If you can’t handle your punishment like an adult,” the magistrate announced without a hint of mercy in his voice, “then you’ll simply have to be spanked like a child.”   
  
“What?” she barely managed to rasp, as if unable to believe her ears at the blatant threat. He was standing behind the pillory, and as such, just out of her range of vision with her eyes forced to focus forward. She had no way of seeing the judge lift his hand, his palm empty, before he brought it down with a hard slap on the exposed curve of her rear. The weight of the chains and the force of the smack of his hand both caused her leg to drop, exposing her again as a sharp cry was dragged from her lips. She had never imagined that she would be _spanked_ like a child in front of so many of the people she had been proud to steal from. It seemed despite this, though, the people were enjoying the show and their notorious little thief finally being put in her ‘place.’ The magistrate didn’t stop there, lifting his palm to lay it down again and again, the slap of her ass making it bounce as the sound echoed through the room. There was no hesitation in the steady hits of his palm on her rump, and the tears threatened to fall from both her embarrassment and the sharp pain of his palm connecting each time. There was no doubt that her lower cheeks were going to be littered with hand marks by the time he was done, and to make it worse, the guests were surrounding the platform, their various plates of leftovers lingering in their hands.   
  
She wasn’t sure which of them threw the first piece of food, but it started something that none of the attending guests would be able to stop. Bit by bit, pieces of bitten, wet, and uneaten food were hurled at her face and hands each time the pillory spun to face them. Her cheeks burned as plenty of them hit, and she was torn between the sensations of being spanked behind her, or food being pelted at her from the front. Plenty of it hit, a surprising number of people in the audience having astoundingly good aim. At some point she was hit by someone’s splattering glass of wine, making her ears hang heavy towards her face. Another piece of cake had nailed her right in the cheek, leaving her fur coated with its bright icing there, and by the time the pillory’s spinning finally came to a slow turn at the magistrate’s request, her nose was running with the tears that had fallen as well, the ache of her bottom almost as strong as the ache of embarrassment in her chest.   
  
Just when she finally thought that things had come to an end, the guests were quick to simply add the icing on the cake of her humiliation. Across the audience, she could see dozens of people pulling out their phones, and the flashes of cameras started to go off instantly, countless people immortalizing her degrading position from all angles, surely giving them leverage over her for her public shame, and she closed her eyes to try and avoid the sight of so many people enjoying her position and punishment. From here on, she decided, she would have to change so this would never happen again. If the magistrate thought he had won, though, she would make sure he never thought any differently-- she wouldn’t be changing the fact that she stole from these privileged elite, but she would _certainly_ make sure she wasn’t caught again.


End file.
